The Five Stages
by liltrix
Summary: It seems as if one could compare Jack Frost's isolation of the world to the stages of grief.
1. Denial

**Denial**

For the first couple of years after Jack Frost awakes with pale skin and white hair under a brilliant moon (the moon, the Man in the Moon, the moon who spoke his name, gave him life), he ignores the fact that he is alone. He tries fruitlessly to pretend that his isolation does not crush him, that his lack of any sort of companion does not make him frustratingly restless. He lives in constant confusion, constant subdued turmoil as he brings winter to the world, flicking his hands and making snow, twirling his staff and wielding ice.

Jack rides the wind without a destination in mind because he never has one. Or, rather, he never has a destination for himself. Nature maps out where he needs to bring his chill, he can feel it when he flies through the air. _I'm not lonely_, his mind whispers, even when he knows that the wind can sense his lie.

But he grips his staff and rides the wind and lies anyway because it's easier.

He tries to spread winter without actually getting near its subjects. He doesn't want to feel his stomach twinge with nausea as someone walks right through him, or looks past him as if he wasn't there at all. (Because he exists, he knows he does, he can feel and touch and, excluding humans and other animals, he is solid to the rest of the world).

Surprisingly, he realizes he knows he is real and very much _alive_ mostly because he needs to eat – albeit rarely – and occasionally sleep. Jack supposes because the denial is so great in his waking life, whenever he sleeps, his dreams are filled with pain and darkness, horror and chaos. But then he wakes up and pretends the dreams never happened.

On a particularly snowy evening in southern Norway, Jack hangs around a village longer than usual. He'd brought the cold to stay so he wasn't needed any longer, the fluffy white inches high off the dirt and covering the grass, their dying green tendrils hidden like they'd disappeared forever, and rooftops brimmed with ice, their hanging pointed tips drooping over houses' edges. But for some reason he feels a hint of nostalgia (nostalgia from what, he doesn't know- he awoke from the Moon and he lives in the cold, so he doesn't suppose how he can be nostalgic for anything warm) at the sight of orange candlelight flooding through dark, foggy winter air and the smell of baking bread and the sound of vibrant laughter. It seems as if the people in this town don't mind the winter. Most people don't like it, at least not in small villages with children to keep warm and mouths to feed. Sometimes Jack distresses over bringing the icy seasons he knew nature commanded, fearing the food shortages and the lack of crop growth.

However, this town is different, so Jack lingers.

He lingers and lands on the ground along the village path, something he rarely does. Usually when his feet touch the earth, he is secluded, in a forest, perhaps, or deep within a mountain range. There are not too many people out, but some wander the streets, greeting their neighbors, hauling firewood, bringing home food. Jack starts when a child runs past him, bundled in what appeared to be rag-like clothing, but bundled warmly nonetheless.

The child picks up some of Jack's snow, molds it into a lump, and throws it at a child Jack didn't realize was behind him. Jack moves to the side quickly, watching the ball soar through the air, and the other child greets it with an indignant squeal, yelling something in Norwegian.

Soon lumps of snow are being flung back and forth, and Jack watches on in mild amusement. A stout woman in an apron comes out of the nearby house soon enough and stops the fight, ushering them inside with stern mutterings.

Yes, Jack is amused, until he remembers that these children have no idea of this freezing powdery stuff's origin. They do not know who he is, the creator of the snow. He remembers that he has more cold to wield and no home to return to, nor anyone to throw snow at, at least not with the victim knowing where it had hailed. Swallowing heavily, he denies and denies again that he feels, that he hurts, that he breathes in rejection and breathes out sadness.

Jack Frost goes on and rides the wind and makes the snow fall, instead.

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**a/n: I may or may not be a little obsessed with this movie right now. Which is why I decided to write this pre-movie fic based off the five stages of grief, because I realized how Jack coped with isolation can probably really be described in these five stages.**

**So many feelings, ugh.  
**

**Anyway, reviews would make my week, because feedback is the best thing.  
**


	2. Anger

**Anger**

It doesn't take very long for the denial to give way to anger. The rage simmers at first, but it eventually boils as all rages do. Because Jack is so very angry. He's angry at the Man in the Moon for not telling him why he is even here at all, he's angry at the world for not being able to see him, he's angry at himself for not being seen. His anger easily turns to irrational hate of everyone, but most of all, hatred of himself.

The seething hatred doesn't last forever, but it lasts a while.

His resentment begins to affect his work. Jack starts to make the snow fall a little harder, make the ice a little sleeker, the cold a little meaner. He's met a few other Immortals by now, but they anger him too (_every_thing angers him) because they brush him off, deem him unimportant, and perhaps they think him rather elusive- but then again, Jack has no other option but to be elusive when he has no connections to anyone.

Even though he's angry, he still yearns to connect- and this yearning never goes away, not even a little, he just learns to bury it a bit better. Jack's anger is mostly the result of the desire for attention, and it is why when he comes across the Easter Rabbit for only the second time, it is a futile attempt to be noticed. His first encounter with Bunnymund hadn't been the best, seeing as it had begun with about a hundred of the rabbit's eggs covered in ice; which, incidentally, had been an accident. He's much better at it now, but in the beginning, when Jack first rose from that lake's murky depths, he'd had a bit of trouble controlling his abilities.

So though the first time he'd messed with Bunnymund's eggs had been an accident, the second had been a cry for attention, even though it is doubtless Jack himself had realized it. It had been an angry outburst fueled by neglect and seclusion, and, if he was to be honest with himself, Jack had regretted his hastiness later.

It's actually not on Easter when it happens, but a sunny Spring day in the upper region of the colonized New World (the United States, of course, had not yet been formed), somewhere in New England. Jack had realized only after a few years from coming into the world that Immortals can sense where other Immortals are. It was a sort of feeling one got, like it could be assuaged how many of Immortals were in the area. So it is when Jack is flying over this sunny, green, flower-filled meadow that he senses another Immortal nearby, and by the look of the area, he knows it must be Bunnymund.

Riding the warmer winds could be rather uncomfortable, but Jack never got too far in warmer climates. To his surprise early on, he had found out that he is not at all insusceptible to illness, and could acquire a rather nasty case of heatstroke or fever from spending too much time in higher temperatures. On this particular day, Jack coasts along the wind to warmer climates mostly because he feels like making them colder. By the laws of nature, he is not actually allowed to tamper with what seasons worked where and in which hemisphere, but he was never one for strictly following the rules. At any rate, once he realizes that Bunnymund is nearby, he quickly rides the wind until he sees the rabbit's ears poking out from behind a bush.

The area is beautiful, a forest clearing filled with the very height of spring; flowers burst in colors of red and yellow from the surrounding shrubbery, deciduous trees loom in their vibrant greens. Jack is impressed for a second by the Immortal's work, until a familiar feeling of resentment emerges inside him as he thinks of the rabbit's and his last (well- and first, technically) encounter. Bunnymund had completely disregarded his attempt to apologize when he'd accidentally frozen those Easter eggs. Sure, the count of the frozen eggs may have well been in the hundreds, and it had taken days for them to thaw, leaving many children without any eggs to hunt for Easter… but it wasn't like Jack had meant to. Besides, all Immortals that Jack had encountered thus far had either ignored or him or seemingly forgot him, and Bunnymund was no exception.

So perhaps, bearing all this in mind, it is not a rather difficult feat to understand why Jack would feel the urge to destroy this lovely piece of spring setting. He does it right in front of the rabbit, too, bringing his staff over the brilliant bushes in a sweeping motion and freezing their colorful plumage to an icy silver, destroying the bright green of the grass, wilting it them with a wave of his hand.

Bunnymund stands there, staring on in shock, his mouth agape. "What in the bloody name of the Moon do you think you're _doing_?"

Jack lands nimbly on the now-frozen ground and smirks, shrugging, twirling his staff. "My hand slipped."

After a beat of silence, the rabbit races up, grabs Jack by the shoulders, and slams him against a tree. Jack is rather surprised, but he waves it off quickly and channels his own anger back at Bunnymund, glaring at him fiercely.

"Listen here, you little good for nothing," Bunnymund growls. "You just killed off _hundreds _of blooming flowers, trees, and growing plant life, right in front of me. Now you probably knew that would make me a little pissed off."

"Yeah, well, maybe I'm pissed off, too," Jack shoots back. And he is: he can feel it pumping throughout his entire body, the rage from feeling alone and ignored and not knowing why pulsing in his blood. He unconsciously grasps the frozen tree behind him, scraping off the layer of ice in his intensity.

"Why the hell would you be pissed at _me_? I'm not the little ice elf that destroyed months' work of Easter eggs, and I'm not the one that just destroyed a flourishing area!"

"I'm not an _elf._"

"Yeah, yeah, I know who and what you are," the rabbit says, his voice getting less obviously angry and more contemptuous. He steps back, releasing Jack from his hold. Jack shakes his shoulders a bit as he touches the ground again, ignoring the bruising from where he'd been gripped, not to mention from the force of being slammed into the tree. "You're Jack Frost," Bunnymund continues. "Jack Frost, the Immortal without a home, the Winter Spirit. Look at you. It's not much of a wonder why you're all alone, is it?"

Jack flinches as if he'd been struck. "How do you know I'm alone?" he asks with malice, though his voice betrays his curiosity.

"Well, who would want to be around the Bringer of _Winter_, of death to nature? It's obvious you don't stick around to interact with many, and no one sticks around to interact with you. Not tough to see why someone wouldn't want to stick around with a petulant brat who freezes everything he touches. Stories float around us Immortals about you, you know. Other Immortals have those who work with them, or those who believe in them. But you? You have no one. And," he looks around with a bitter laugh at Jack's destructive work, "you don't right deserve any, either."

There are a million things Jack wants to say has he stands there, his hands in fists, his heart pounding violently. _I'm not a petulant brat, I'm just lonely, I'm alone all the time, always, and I'm angry, angry, angry- _but his mouth is dry and he can't form words, so he just twirls his staff and leaves in a gust of wind up North, unable to explain his actions, and unable to stop his rage.

* * *

**a/n: Yay, this one was longer and had dialogue! Sorry for all the hurt without the comfort, oh gosh. I had fun writing it, though. Sigh. Oh, Jack. So sad, so alone, so angry at the world. **

**Quite a few people are following this, which makes me happy, so please go ahead and review; let me know what you thought! :D**


	3. Bargaining

**Bargaining**

"Please, just- just tell me why I'm _here_. Tell me why no one can see me."

Jack's voice is small and desperate in the wide expanse of the cold night air; his breath comes out in puffs. His gaze is resolute, but it appears that it is still impossible for him to get through to the target of his plea: the brilliant, glowing orb that shines in the dark sky.

He turns away from the moon and brings his hands up through his hair, shaking it out in frustration. He's getting nowhere, he's always been getting nowhere, and now he is just simply at a loss. Finally, he faces the sky again and says, "I'll do anything you want. I'll be the best damn Immortal Spirit this world has ever seen. I'll make amends with anyone I've wronged- I swear it. And I'll stop making such cold winters." Jack pauses, letting his gaze trail down to the sea of trees and jagged cliffs below, when a thought occurs to him. "Maybe… maybe_ that's_ what you brought me here to do- to control the harsh weather! That's my purpose! Instead of making sure there's enough snow, I'm actually supposed to restrain it. And if I fulfill it, you can tell me everything!"

Even as he says this, Jack knows somewhere in the back of his mind the plan is illogical, because he technically does not always control where he brings his cold; it is more a force inside of him that knows where to bring it. Lessening and changing what he felt to be the laws of nature would most likely result in disaster.

But at this point, Jack is unconsciously slipping into a delusion.

It is indeed true that Jack had realized he'd been susceptible to illness and weakness early on in his life. However, he hadn't realized that essentially reconfiguring the winter seasons around the world to be gentler would have such an impact on his health. It was as if because he hadn't used all of his potential energy in the right way, the energy built up inside him until it released in bursts of sporadic, unintentional snowstorms over random places (such as a spot over the Pacific), leaving him drained and sluggish. As a sort of paradoxical cycle, over-performing would make Jack tired, but under-performing would as well, because it_ created _over-performing.

However, despite his tired state, Jack keeps taming the cold around the world while his body racks with extreme fatigue.

It's not too long in his venture when Jack realizes with dismay that his efforts seem to be getting him nowhere with the Man in the Moon. His attempts to find Bunnymund are in vain; the Immortal is bent on avoiding him (not that he hadn't been ignoring him before) after the meadow incident. It was difficult to communicate with North since he was in the Ice Castle at the North Pole the majority of the year, but then, Jack can't remember wronging North anyway. Honestly, he can't think of an Immortal besides Bunnymund he's personally wronged- but he has to have done _some_thing terrible for the Moon to withhold all he knows. So Jack thinks that perhaps his wrongdoing is in his weather (never mind the fact he is not really the one who dictates the patterns of nature and climate).

Of course, this suppression cannot last forever, and it is when Jack is bringing a light snowfall to Northern Germany that he feels the fatigue that has been building up inside him come to a sort of culmination.

The air is thin and has the sort of crisp feeling that it gets when nearing heavy precipitation – it is almost as if it is in want of harsher snow. But Jack keeps it light anyway, still under the obsessive idea that it is what the Moon is asking of him. He's flying over a forest toward a village when he wobbles a bit, startling himself. He shakes his head, blinks a few times, hard, and then opens his eyes wide. Though he can admit he's tired as hell, he stubbornly can't bring himself to stop.

Flying over the village, he glances at the cobblestone and terra cotta rooftops below, the reds of the clay buildings standing out amongst the dulled colors of winter. Jack wonders vaguely if the people are confused at the lack of snow and ice this year. Maybe just for a while, he'd touch down to one of the roofs and rest. Just for a while. Gripping his staff, Jack rides the wind down to the lightly slanted roof of a house nearby. Most of the village is dark because night is closing in and everyone is blowing out their candles.

He leans heavily against the chimney on the roof, refusing to actually sit down. His breath is coming harder now and he rubs sluggishly at his eyes. When he glances up, he sees the moon is not visible tonight because of the clouds, but he also notices something high in the sky, something orange. Strings of orange, almost like… sand.

Dreamsand. He'd seen the stuff before, but he'd never met who creates it. The sand is beautiful, and Jack watches as the dreams of children whisk their way down to the village's homes, some in forms of dragons and knights, others in forms of elephants and tigers; all of it is whimsical and delightful and nothing like what Jack feels he brings to the world. Though he would later – much later – be declared the Guardian of Fun, Jack has not yet seen the joyous effect his weather is capable of bringing. All he can think of is the destruction and bitterness.

_Who would want to be around the Bringer of _Winter_, of death to nature? _

The words echo in his brain like poison and Jack involuntarily shudders. That had been a few years ago, but it still haunts him, most likely because it had been one of the very few times anyone had spoken to him at all. Still leaning on the chimney, Jack tries to edge himself away in order to take off, but is caught by surprise when his own body can't support itself on its own, and he falls on his back, gripping the roofs' shingles to stop himself from sliding down. The position is actually comfortable, and the sight of the moving clouds and dreamsand is soothing.

"So tired..." Jack mumbles (he'd gotten used to talking to himself sometimes because silence really could be deafening). But he can't let himself fall asleep when there is work to be done and answers to be earned.

Something else orange appears in his blurring vision; it looks to be a short man with pointed yellow hair. Jack blinks up at him as he nears. "You the Sandman?" he tries to ask, but he is pretty sure it comes out as an incoherent mess.

However, the little man seems to have heard him, because he nods once. Jack can barely see him, his eyes are barely open, but he still says, "I have things to do, cold weather to make… _less_ cold… so… hope you're not here to make me fall asleep… Don't need to sleep often, you know…"

The Sandman says nothing, but waves his hands with graceful movements (Jack notes he is surprisingly graceful for someone so stout), creating beautiful sand snowflakes. As they drift around Jack, he tries to protest again, but his body has different ideas, and soon he is asleep.

With the help of the dreamsand, Jack dreams well for the first time in a long time.

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**a/n: I'm excited because apparently RotG has been doing better at the box office lately- I was planning on going to see it again in 3D this Saturday, and if everyone who loves it went to see it again the same weekend, we could really have a big impact.**

**But yes, anyway. This chapter wasn't actually as painful as the others because of Sandy. Next up is Depression though, so, that didn't last long. Also, Sandy knew who Jack was the moment he saw him, though he hadn't met him. Word travels among the Immortals, I'm sure.  
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**Review and let me know what you think!  
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	4. Depression

**Depression**

After Jack realizes that this whole bargaining thing simply isn't going to work, he attains a prolonged state of sadness. It was if all hope he'd kept that someday- _some_day the Man in the Moon would give him answers, would tell him why he was here and what he was meant to do, had disappeared. When he'd awoken in that lake - his lake - all he'd seen was darkness, until he'd risen and met the moon. Now he's surrounded by dark again; anguish's unrelenting grip has its fingers around him tight and won't let go.

He still brings snow and ice to the world (regularly now, without holding back, since he's given up on that), but he no longer hangs around villages to see the children play in his snow or flies over crowds to people watch. Jack distances himself from everything; he distances himself from light, and delves deeper into dark, dark oblivion. Even though he's stopped trying to hold back his cold, lingering lethargy continues to drain his energy.

Sometimes, Jack wishes he could wield his staff and create an endless snowfall. A beautiful, endless snowfall that would cover him as he lay on its white fluff, cover him until he got swallowed into the darkness completely. Maybe then he would stop feeling so wretchedly sad. Yes, maybe that was how he could end this; since he was only ever partially in the dark, he needed to completely immerse himself in it to feel whole. And the only way to do that was to just stop. To stop living, be it metaphorically, or quite literally.

Vaguely, as he rides the wind farther up north, Jack wonders if he can even die. Beings born of power to bring to the world are called Immortals, but Jack often doubted the idea of true immortality. Perhaps an Immortal can only die if the Immortal brings it upon himself.

Thoughts of his worthlessness plague him daily now. He must be worthless, after all, if the Man in the Moon refuses to speak to him. He'd asked himself, over and over again, _what is my point_? But the answer was always right there. Jack has no point.

At least, that's what he believes.

He reaches the cold, biting climate of the Arctic, far up north. Jack knows it well like an old friend (even though he has no friends) for it is he who makes the snow fall harder and the ice form greater. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows that the North Pole must be near, but the notion does not register with him completely. All he feels now is the cold and- oh! How comfortable it is!

Had Jack spent all this time without realizing how wonderful it was to just lay in the snow? Beautiful, beautiful snow. Jack stretches his arms out wide, and for a second, he forgets his emotional torment and focuses only on the physicality of the cold wetness soaking his cloak and trousers, seeping into his skin, the white tufts of his very own handiwork falling onto his face, sticking to his eyelashes.

Yes, perhaps he can suffocate under the weight of his own white work. Cold cannot kill him, but maybe the dark heaviness of being buried in it can.

However, his temporary distraction passes and again Jack feels terrible sorrow twist his insides. Even though it's his own snow, and even though it feels wonderful to lie in, he is still so very, very _alone_.

It begins to pile on him thicker as the snowfall quickens and the wind grows harsher. The glorious white is covering him completely; he can start to feel the pressure of the snow's weight and it gets harder to breathe normally. Soon he is not breathing at all. The heaviness of the snow is stifling but also contradictorily lifting, because buried in it, Jack is not nearly as much agonized as he was before. His consciousness is starting to slip away-

-right before he feels something furry grab him hard and pull him out feet-deep from within the snow bank.

Jack shakes his head; his vision is wavering, but it is good enough to make out the six foot tall yeti holding him up midair with its huge paw. The yeti tries to say something, probably an explanation of how he found Jack in the first place. Indeed, North's yetis often went out to chop lumber in the forest regions near the Pole, and it wasn't unlikely that one of them would have spotted (or even smelled) the winter spirit lying in a clearing as the snow began to cover him. But of course, Jack cannot decipher a word of this.

The dizziness of the suffocation has begun to leave him and he closes his eyes and opens them wide to try to get a hold of himself. The yeti still has him gripped by his shirt; Jack grabs its furry wrist to make it let go, and he falls to the ground, landing less nimbly than he normally would have during other circumstances. If Jack didn't know better, he'd say the yeti looked concerned. But Jack knows better.

However, now that the stifling barrier of the snow has left him, emotion comes back to him in a rush. He stares at the snow bank and swallows thickly as if he was only just realizing what he'd nearly done to himself.

All of a sudden he feels very much like breaking down, but Jack hasn't cried in a very long time. In fact, he'd only allowed himself to cry once, and that had been prompted by anger more than anything. An involuntary noise of frustration escapes him and he blinks hard to keep back welling tears. Jack pulls his half-buried staff from the ground, unable to look the yeti in the eye. Without saying a word, he leaves the Pole and his snow behind, along with the yeti's questioning gaze.

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**a/n: I saw RotG again this Thursday in 3D and good _god_ the 3D made it even more beautiful. I can't handle the wait to own this movie, I need it now. ;_; And yet I want it to stay in theatres and do even better, so...**

**Oh man, so this chapter was probably the most painful so far. Oops. (I also hope it didn't seem unrealistic for the yeti to find him but I think it was a plausible situation- can it be a headcanon yetis have a good sense of smell?). The next one shouldn't be quite as bad, since it's "Acceptance".  
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**Please go ahead and review. They're like Christmas presents.  
**


	5. Acceptance

**Acceptance**

The thing is, Jack never really accepts his isolation. He never fully finishes the five stages. His denial brings the anger that swallows him whole, causing him to bargain until he settles into a depression that finally gives way to a numbed tolerance. It lasts a couple centuries, and it begins to dissolve soon enough, but for a while, Jack tries to live his life again without killing himself- figuratively _and _literally. He stops focusing on what could be and what he wants to be and starts focusing on what is.

Jack adopts a façade of apathy; in a way, it is like he has cycled back to denial, because he ignores his feelings and focuses on his work instead. Or, his _play_, rather. Although he follows what nature needs along with the changing seasons, he constantly creates mischief, and while he enjoys this, unconsciously it acts as a plea for attention.

Sometimes, Jack happens upon Bunnymund or senses him nearby. Jack messes with him a bit, and Bunnymund always returns the favor with unveiled irritation. The winter spirit coats his fun with smirks and laughter but somewhere inside of him the rabbit's words of years past still echo, creating a dull simmering anger that was always there, but never quite attainable.

Other times, Jack happens upon the Sandman. These meetings are brief highlights in his years of solitude. Jack never forgets the Sandman's help in stopping his pointless pleas to the moon by bringing him to sleep on that windy night years ago. Of course, Jack had initially been irritated at the interference, but now he realizes it had been the only gesture of kindness he'd ever been shown.

Jack sees the yeti a couple times, too, the one that had pulled him from his near-death. He recognizes him the first time he sees him after the incident. Yetis look alike, but Jack can tell. The yeti's eyes are sad when he sees him, knowing who he is at once. Jack doesn't acknowledge the yeti's expression, and instead gives him a solemn nod, as if this simple gesture could encompass all his gratitude and grief.

Poor Jack, the winter spirit.

Always, always alone.

_It's not _

_much of a wonder _

_why _

_you're all alone, is it?_

Sometimes Jack takes his staff and creates beautiful patterns of ice on trees deep in forests, knowing others will most likely not see his handiwork in such secluded areas. He makes patterns everywhere but he takes a special amount of consideration with these, because they are for him and him alone. They glimmer silver, pristine and untouched. Like him, they are unacknowledged. Occasionally he makes them in forests where he know spring will bring its warmth and melt his work; it is almost like a self-pitying gesture, to watch the beautiful ice melt and seep into the bark as if it was never there at all. Jack hates himself for feeling all of this self-pity, but he buries that back down too.

(It takes years, but gradually even the façade of tolerance wears off because Jack never really gives up on the chance that one day he could know his purpose, that one day he could be believed in).

And so the lonely Immortal breathes winter onto the world with laughter on his lips and bitterness in his heart. For a while, the tolerance suffices.

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**a/n: mm I'm not as happy with this chapter as I was with the others. ;_; (and it's the shortest one, too). but I hope you're satisfied with the ending!**

**some of you wanted the ending to be the guardians' acceptance of Jack, but this was about Jack's response to his _isolation_, all pre-movie. and as we know, he never actually accepts it.  
so no happy ending for this fic whoops.  
I really need to write tooth/jack fluff now.**

**please go and review and let me know what you thought! :D thank you for following this story!  
**


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